Distinguished Host
by Min Daae
Summary: Niko and Promise, in the style of Bram Stoker. A creepy spin on a cute pairing, just for fun.


May 3, afternoon. Arrived safely in Budapest, without incident, though locals seem peculiarly reticent and unwilling to speak with me. I attribute it to the fact that I am a foreigner, as though my distinguished host warned me that his reputation with the folk is not altogether savory and thus not to speak of it, I know not how they would have become aware of the object of my visit. Many seem not to speak English, though this may be a pretense to avoid conversation with me. I will not be perturbed by it.

My guide is of strange aspect, however, and I wonder if it is perhaps this malformed entity that leads to the shunning by the townsfolk of my distinguished host, or if that unwillingness to associate has led, rather, to the employment of such unsavory characters. I do not doubt that it proves a conundrum to the poor man, though, and hope he tolerates with good humor the ignorance of these people. I know well how those in rural areas cling to their superstitions, long past the time when good, civilized men of the cities have discarded such outdated notions.

I expect to arrive at the castle of my distinguished host by evening, though the roads here are in such condition that may be optimistic.

May 3, evening. The quarters here are spacious and accommodating – any trepidation I had about the isolation of my living arrangements in accordance with their condition is long since banished. My host seems to be out, for the moment, and so I am left to myself unexpectedly. The castle itself is a marvel – full of history, I have already noted architecture of a number of different styles combine within and without, as though the original builder were well traveled and worldly indeed.

I cannot, however, find any other bedroom, which leaves me with the question of where my host is staying, but I do not wish to pry overmuch. It is already exceedingly generous to allow me to stay here at all, and bother him with my studies. Much of a scholar's life seems devoted to bothering those who would just as soon be left alone, so one as amiable as my distinguished host's letters seem is a rare and especial pleasure, specially in this region.

But ah! I think I hear the door. Perhaps my host has arrived.

Postmarked May 4.

My brother,

You cannot imagine my surprise when upon arriving here I discovered that my 'distinguished host' was no host but a hostess! And a great lady as well, lovely and well-mannered, she lowered her head demurely and begged me to forgive her her small deceit, she was concerned that I as many men might underestimate her knowledge for being of the fairer sex. I assured her that through her writing I had already learned much more than I had expected and could only expect more of the same, but how surprised I am! I was thoroughly convinced that it would be a man hosting me, and am uncertain about being alone in this house with such a lady, with only that misshapen servant for company.

When she arrived, we took a late dinner, though she demurred to eat anything, claiming that she had fed while out. I cannot help but think that she watched me queerly the whole time, though, with such focus that I was nearly discomfited. I cannot tell what she is thinking, her gaze is so inscrutable! And her eyes are the strangest – the most unusual shade of violet. I could not help but comment on them, and she smiled in that mysterious, womanly way and would only say that they were a family heirloom.

After the late meal she allowed a few questions, and I asked her much about the castle and her life here, if she grew lonely. She seems still an amiable and forthright soul, and quite knowledgeable about a number of things – why, she speaks of the history of this place as though she were there herself for every day of it! Her name, she tells me, is Promise Nottinger, and on no occasion am I to call her Countess, but Promise. I cannot help but be charmed by her, dangerous as I know it must be for a scholar to become too attached to those he interviews, lest his bias interfere with his writing.

Speaking with her, the hours seemed to fly, and all too soon the clock tolled nearly five in the morning, and my hostess exclaimed, looking alarmed for the first time. "Oh, look at the time, and how I have kept you with my prattling," she said, standing, distressed, and though I assured her that she had not by any means been dull or uninspiring, she would not hear of it, and shooed me off to bed almost as though I were a child. I took the moments to dash off this letter to you, letting you know that I am here and safe – if altogether too intrigued by my lovely hostess! – before collapsing into a sleep I am sure will be like the dead.

May 4, evening. My hostess only grows more mysterious instead of less, with every passing day! I woke late in the afternoon this day, after my long day and night yesterday, and found her vanished again, with no note or explanation. I wandered, again, and discovered a door I had not seen before, locked with bolt and key. I wonder at what in this empty place requires such security, but I will try not to think on it, as I'm sure it can be of no matter.

I became quite bored as time passed, and considered seriously venturing down into town, as even the company of those surly and unfriendly folk might be better than none, but ultimately I ventured to the stables – and found them wholly unhabited! Not a horse, or even an empty carriage to be seen, and certainly no sign of that coach that brought me here just this past evening. I can only conclude that it was a temporary hire.

However, to my relief, my hostess emerged just after dark, and apologized profusely for her absence, asking after my health. I noted her pallor and asked after hers, as well, but she waved off my concerns and we sat down to a second late dinner – which, again, the Countess did not partake of. If I did not know better – but I am not a superstitious man, and will not think such dark things of my gracious hostess. She has been nothing but kind to me.

We spoke again, for long hours, deep into the night, but not so late as before as I found myself quickly wearied and requested my bed. This unwonted weariness will hopefully pass by morning, so I can spend the more enjoyable time with such a gracious and beautiful lady.

Postmarked May 6.

My brother,

I am returning home at once.

I fear I have been gravely mistaken about the nature of my hostess and her intentions toward me.

This past night – and I hope you will not dismiss it as a dream or fancy, as I am certain of its reality – I woke from my peaceful sleep to find a shadow in my room. Fear overtook me and I nearly screamed, though I held it back and reached for my knife which I keep near out of habit, intending self defense. It moved too quickly, though, and caught my wrist, and I recognized the face, though seeing her teeth for the first time – the Countess's canines were hideously elongated, pointed, and her skin was cold where she held me, her grip icy strong.

"Think of it as a guest tribute," she murmured, and – dear God – bit me, her teeth piercing my flesh-

I flush to admit I fainted then, but when I awoke the light was up and there was no sign that anything had happened, save a few spots of blood on my nightsheets, but I knew, my brother, I _knew _that this had been no mere fever dream or hallucination, and that I had to flee at once. And I did – the door was locked, but I took a window, and fled down to the village, where I pleaded desperately – I must have seemed a madman – for the finance to get out of the godforsaken town. I was lucky in that they seemed to understand, and I fled…am now on a train back to England, where I will take a steamer across the water. I fear, though, that she will follow me – that creature of darkness, in the form of a woman sweet enough to beguile any man's senses.

I pray to reach you before she does, or before she finds me…and at the same time, I do not. There is a strange kind of ecstasy in her touch that makes my blood cease to run…

Godspeed.

Niko Leandros


End file.
